


The Philosophy of Myrtles

by dovahfiin



Series: Stay [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode II: Attack of the Clones, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Bisexual Anakin Skywalker, Definitely Gay Sheev Palpatine, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Manipulative Sheev Palpatine, Minor Padmé Amidala/Anakin Skywalker, Older Man/Younger Man, Palpatine Comforts Anakin, Palpatine has non-Sith Feelings, Palpatine is a romantic, Plot with too little porn, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Slash, Seduction to the Dark Side, Sith, Sith Shenanigans, The Dark Side of the Force
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-25
Updated: 2018-02-09
Packaged: 2019-03-09 07:14:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13476414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dovahfiin/pseuds/dovahfiin
Summary: Based on Rihanna'sStay, and the first installment of the series of the same name. Interwoven themes from EA Robinson's poemLuke Havergal.Following his mission to Oba Diah, Anakin accompanies Chancellor Palpatine to Naboo as his protector during a rare holiday. Absent from the Temple and temporarily free from his duties to the Republic, he discovers a new component to his friendship with the the leader of the known galaxy. Palpatine makes what is arguably his first mistake.





	1. there is yet one way to where he is

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Palpatine abandons his visions of the future. Anakin slowly adapts to leisure.

_Not really sure how to feel about it_

_Something in the way you move_

* * *

____

****

****

They fan out in all directions, cushioning his steps in a vibrant carpet of orange and yellow. Small vines twist and conform to new systems of pervasive, tiny leaves that make it impossible to find the source; all he knew was that they had always been there and had grown exponentially as time passed, reaching over and through the cracked stone of the ancient ruins, taking on the color of the season. Naboo was deep in its autumnal cycle, and the thousands of delicate leaves beneath him a soft, golden highway. In this, he is reminded of the workings of the Force; how every being in the galaxy is connected with a single gossamer thread, seemingly inconsequential but mighty in its course. Occasionally the toe of his boot will uproot a small system of the delicate foliage, but he knows that they will be reintegrated into the surrounding undergrowth and push outward again, perhaps stronger and more resilient. So is it with the Force, as there are thousands of possible futures, any of which can be enacted or diverted with a twist of his hand. Similarly, he can choose to divert his path; of late, the rate at which the Jedi have rooted out the conflict he has fomented moved with far more efficiency than he had anticipated. For the first time since he was a child, there lay before him the prospect of separating the grand design from who he was - for so long, Plagueis enforced a single-mindedness that Palpatine could not always abide, but his master was dead and his criticisms with him. He leans against the oscillating energies wrapping around him, and for the first time in many standard months, closes his eyes and _smiles_.

There is no other place in which he holds stronger congress with the Force. The decrepit stone monuments above Theed were the final resting places of the progenitors of the human race in the galaxy; he felt the dark side thrum through the ruins, reaching toward him as unseen tendrils and currents pushed and pulled him. It was a sort of seductive comfort he pitied the Jedi for never experiencing; so closed were they to the heady power of allowing themselves to feel alive.

Anakin had not taken well to leisure, finally shirking his obi, tabard, and robe on the third day. While Palpatine had been able to create a sharp delineation between the professional and the personal, Jedi could not; they constantly dwelt in the realms of duty and righteousness. Even Anakin, whose unorthodox grasp of his responsibilities was heavily informed by the late Qui Gon Jinn, had been so transformed during the initial years of the Clone Wars that it had become quite impossible to get the boy to calm himself. Ironic, considering the importance the Jedi placed on quelling feelings of unrest and agitation. Anakin seemed to embody them, but war left scars unseen.

And to offer a balm to those wounds was Palpatine's motivation in this case. Even if his actions meant recalculating the path toward ultimately turning him, he could perhaps use it to drive an irreparable wedge between Anakin and his benevolent but infuriatingly self-righteous Master Kenobi. The man simply did not appreciate the impossibly wide breadth of Anakin's connection to the Force; he did not understand, as Palpatine did, the young man's potential. He hadn't been sleeping well in the evenings, and Palpatine would cautiously stretch out his awareness toward the young Jedi. In the dead of night, from the boy's quarters there came a sharp, white hot discomfort to be followed in short order by shame. He suspects that Anakin is self-medicating somehow, though he cannot blame him if he were.

As to the myrtles beneath his feet, he could tear them up in triumphant, ecstatic fistfuls and they would still grow back. The estuaries of the Force are just as resilient, and new possibilities with new paths toward his goal would form. In a quieter place within him, he separates himself from the designs he had set into motion with Plagueis all those years ago; he examines desires previously ignored, holding his arms out before him and closing his eyes, still smiling, still utterly _himself_ apart from being the reigning Sith Lord in the galaxy. They are two different people with two separate sets of motivations, although the motivations seem to complement one another he must be sure nonetheless that what he is about to do will not alter the growth of his empire.

He holds his hands above his head as dark, pregnant storm clouds scroll across the firmament, an autumnal breeze caressing him beneath the decidedly informal robes he wears. The familiar heat of electricity flows through every artery, flowing into veins, arteries, flooding him with a raw, untamed energy. His fingertips are alight with surges of lightning, but he holds back. He listens, fully opening himself to the call of the Elders buried in the centuries-old crypts beneath his feet. As the Force flows through him, the sky unleashes a torrential downpour. He extends his fingers and allows the lightning to unfurl from his hands like the opening of a blossom, a carnal heat rising to push it from the depths of his connection to the dark side outward and upward to meet the churning gray above. He entreats Onoam and Veruna, calls upon their holy light with his rage and his power and his _will_. They answer when the sky is rent in two and he is graced with justification, with assurance as his fingers reach to caress a slender form painted across the darkening heavens.

As quickly as it happens, it is over. The sky remains dark, but the rain calms to a mist, fog from the lowland lake country obscuring his feet. No matter; he lets the Force guide his steps, and when he descends the hill there is only a steady, pulsing ache where there was once indecision.

He will always be Darth Sidious, Dark Lord of the Sith. Tonight, and for the next thirty days and thirty nights, he will be Sheev, and his schemes will slumber until he takes up the mantle of his grand design once again.

* * *

****

****

The short-lived storm only serves to hone his focus. He times his breath in between peals of thunder, exhaling when lightning splits the sky with long, jagged cracks. He isn't cold, although he shucked his tunic long ago as a sheen from sweat began to build on his chest. If nothing else, the rain soothes him as he completes each defensive maneuver, resetting his stance and working through the movements slowly and sequentially.

Defensive forms aren't his specialty, but Obi Wan had placed a great importance on improving that deficit after the duel with Dooku on Oba Diah. He acknowledges that too much time spent utilizing Ataru rather than Soresu was the reason he wore a sizable lightsaber burn along his trapezius muscle. As his practice session progressed, the skin around the wound pulled tightly and painfully, but he simply called upon the Force to quiet the protesting muscle.

He had turned each facet of the mission over in his mind, unable to sleep for feeling as though he had failed. When his master, stoic and red-eyed, had dismissed him from the Temple ( _"For an extended_ leave _, Anakin"_ ) he had been too fatigued to contest it. Only after three days spent at the Chancellor's right hand, swarmed with protestations and adoration of anyone and everyone who saw them, did he feel as though the Council had slighted him yet again.

There is a presence behind him, but he ignores it. The benevolent, kindly mien of the Chancellor can be detected from farther away, but he has been opened fully to the Light even amid executing complex figure-of-eight patterns in the humid crisp air.

It's as good a time to stop as any, the markedly lighter clouds parting just enough to allow a flirtation of a sunset begin its descent. He extinguishes the blade, clipping the lightsaber to his belt. "I'm aggro."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Clone slang for 'frustrated'."

"Ah, I see. You will forgive me for an admitted lack of mastery when it comes to the unique diction of young people."

He smiles down at the Chancellor, seated on a deep turquoise chaise. Anakin still can't get over how _casual_ he looks, as if the Chancellor is simply a man and not the most powerful being in the known galaxy. "I shudder to think of the types of things soldiers say on the front." He blushes slightly, which makes Anakin only laugh harder.

"I'll spare you the details, sir. I just - it's been a long time since I was away from the Temple for this long. It's like Master Obi Wan wanted to be rid of me."

"My delicate constitution thanks you, Anakin." His gaze shifts to the angry red wound on Anakin's shoulder. "How is your wound?" he inquires softly.

"It's nothing."

"Well, when you have audited your soldier's bravado and amended your 'aggro' state, I recommend you apply some bacta patches. Perhaps" his eyes flit over Anakin's torso, but the Jedi doesn't notice as he struggles to pull his rain-soaked tunic over his head "you can change into something acceptable toward dining out."

"I will, Your Excellency."

"And don't think your appraisal of Master Kenobi's appropriation of your leave escaped my notice, either. You are a warrior, Anakin, and we expect too much of them. I know that every one of those sycophants in the Senate would be quite ineffectual with a blaster in their hands."

"Sir, many of them seem to be ineffectual in general." He blanches when he says it, almost wondering if he's become to casual even for the friendship he shares with the Chancellor. To his relief, the older man chuckles gleefully. "Too true, my boy; too true."

"As to your duty-bound master, he is simply worried for you. Even the Hero With No Fear is deserving of respite from time to time."

Anakin is sure of few things, but among them is the Chancellor's complete confidence in him. It is admittedly refreshing, the care and concern the Chancellor showers upon him while Obi Wan would be content to enforce Anakin's shortcomings indefinitely. Despite the chill, his body warmed. "Thank you, sir. I sometimes wonder if you believe in me too much."

"Never." When their eyes meet, Anakin's chest still heaving from the extended practice, it is abiding and intimate.

The Jedi stalks back into his quarters from the veranda, leaving Palpatine to the coming sunset as more of the storm clouds continued to dissipate. He can hear the 'fresher turn on, Anakin whistling a few bars here and there of a song Palpatine recognizes as an old farming ballad. He wonders idly if the boy learned it on Tatooine; what a wasteful pit of destitution. He crinkles his nose at the thought of the Chosen One languishing on a dusty planet full of clandestine intentions and water one had to biologically modify to make it potable. Nonsense.

Anakin emerges from a rolling billow of steam fifteen minutes later, having dressed in a gray v-neck tunic, a black casual variant of his Jedi robe hanging from his shoulders. His shining black jodhpurs end at the knees, black semi-formal trousers with a black syntheleather belt around his narrow hips, securing the lightsaber hanging just to the side of where the robe opens. His hair is just beginning to curl over his ears, neglected in wartime but gloriously tousled. Palpatine shivers.

"Ready, sir?"

"Yes; quite." He cannot iron out the plaintive elongation of vowels, but the Jedi doesn't seem to notice his slight keening. It isn't yet time to lay his intentions bare, and Palpatine is no longer sure of himself where emotional solicitations are concerned.

They travel with a small security detail, Anakin insistent on piloting the small speeder. Palpatine smooths invisible wrinkles in his casual midnight blue robe, stealing glances at the young man pushing the boundaries of comfortable speed as they make their way to the city proper.

****

* * *

****

****

Wine is not a luxury a Jedi is ever afforded. Anakin holds the glass stem as though it were a foreign object, tipping the wide basin toward his nose clumsily. He quirks an eyebrow as he tentatively sips, savoring the oaky dryness. His eyes widen as his palette processes each flavor, a marriage of fruit he cannot name but that is pleasing all the same. He takes another sip, then another. Palpatine watches from the brim of his own, smaller glass. He is drinking a Nubian port, strong and best enjoyed in small quantities.

They enjoy their first companionable conversation since arriving at Theed, Palpatine offering no end of praises while Anakin bemoans his absence from the Temple and the war. "After what we learned on Oba Diah, it seemed like a waste to send me away. That, and I can't have Snips getting all the glory, sir." His blue eyes dance with slight inebriation; a potentially dangerous playfulness bubbling underneath the surface. Palpatine whets his lips, considering both his reply and the flush heat under his midweight robes.

"Your apprentice has been fortunate to study under the most accomplished young Jedi I have ever met. And you will remain here for the entire thirty day period, or I shall tie you to your bed."

"I don't know" he swirls food around on his plate, his appetite one of the lesser-known casualties to fall prey to a seemingly endless war "I don't want him to think that I am weak."

"Your bravery is what has propelled the Republic to victory on more than one occasion. Surely you cannot be serious, Anakin."

"I am. And the clones - who's going to listen to a general who needed to 'take a rest'?"

"An intelligent soldier who is loyal to his commanding officer. Anakin, I implore you; please take this time to collect yourself, to gather your strength for the battles to come." He's leaning forward slightly, speaking slowly and deeply in the glottal way he knows Anakin appreciates. "I have said it once, but I shall say it thousands of times until you believe it: you are the most talented Jedi I have ever known. You are not a god. Your body is flesh and bone, as you can deduce from your wound."

"I am honored that you think so highly of me, Your Excellency."

Some lever is thrown in the back of his head, the switch to toggle his propriety. Whatever it is, and this is not something that he can intuit with the inky black promptings of the dark side, is the last of prudence squeezed from his conscience like a sponge. He considers the myrtles again, considers how they would become tangled in his boots no matter how gingerly he moved among them. He flexes his hands under the table subconsciously, pulling the amber leaves in great clumps, tossing the vines over his shoulder in fistfuls of satiny earth.

"Here I am simply 'Palpatine'. Please."

Not even the candle in between them on the table gutters. Anakin grins. "As you wish."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Onoam and Veruna are the two moons of Naboo.  
> 2\. Huzzah for The Last Jedi easter eggs!  
> 3\. Where most Palpakin has Anakin unravel first, I thought it'd be fun to make Palpy-pants sweat a little bit.


	2. god slays himself with every leaf that flies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Palpatine has cut himself off from the Force, and catches Anakin unawares.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Darth Vectivus! That's the name of the Sith Lord who did not go for glory and attempt to conquer the galaxy. Instead, he directed all of his power to taking care of others.  
> 2\. If TLJ taught us anything, it's that a Force user is able to cut themselves off from the Force. I imagiine it is the same with the dark side, not just practitioners of the Light; and Palpatine has ample reason to do so here.  
> 3\. I've always had it in my head that Naboo is quite similar to the Pacific Northwest region, heavily forested in places and somewhat mountainous away from Theed and urban areas. I'm taking liberties here, but I think it adds to the vibe I'm trying to create - especially for this chapter.

_It's not much of a life you're living_

_it's not something you take - it's given_

****

* * *

At first it's like a woman walking into a room, perfumed with some pleasing but lingering scent, only to exit and leave behind wafts of fragrance in her wake. His intellectual knowledge of having severed himself from the dark side is supplemented by the residual presence of _something_ , but the moment he realizes that he has been well and truly cut from the Force, every major muscle group in his body relaxes simultaneously. The sensation is overwhelming, and Palpatine spends most of the morning after his sojourn to the Elder Cairn sitting in the silence of his guest quarters acclimating to the loss of the desire to conquer. He doesn't know himself apart from that need, but as the early morning hours wane into midday, he becomes increasingly amenable to the adjustment. He _moves_ better, the creakiness of his joints no longer an inelegant hindrance only he notices. So much can be hidden under the robes of state; even his complexion clears, his skin still porcelain but no longer does he wear the ruddy lines of fatigue across his cheeks.

He decides to dress casually, foregoing the famous couture Naboo style in favor of a simple long-sleeved deep burgundy tunic, tailored black slacks, and black leather slip-on shoes. His hair, previously a thing he had made a point to ignore as it was the best illustrator of his age, was carefully combed with mouse. There was some body to it even, and the pomade he used to finish it off made the white hair shine brilliantly. Thus attired, he prepared a mug of caf and stepped out onto the veranda of his guest apartments.

Perhaps the most unsettling byproduct of his temporary divorce from his powers was his inability to sense Anakin. The boy could be anywhere, and if their evening the previous night was any indication, he was likely off somewhere meditating or practicing lightsaber forms. Palace Security had already caught him patrolling several times, assuring the Jedi that they were entirely capable of walking the parameter and responding to threats should they arise. He simply could not _relax_ , and it was troublesome. What would have helped was an ability to search through Anakin's feelings in order to turn them to his advantage, but that tool was not available to him at present. Instead, he had to rely on pure instinct - and the wafting Force currents that still remained, floating just beyond his reach.

Palpatine rather felt like an infant learning to walk for the first time. The need to conquer, to propel his designs forward unto completion was replaced by a tranquility he had never before experienced. His vision blurred and tears stung the corners of his eyes; is this how it felt to be a being not in concert with the Force? If so, it was a sensation worth remembering; he felt _light_ , unencumbered by the troubles of the galaxy even knowing that he had created them. To what end, if not to dominate, if not to rule, was it even important to secure total sovereignty?

He returned to the Elder Cairn, a break in the weather revealing a cloudless cerulean sky, only slightly warmer than the day prior.

The path to the Elder Cairn has been worn into a well-traveled trail, as it is a common stop for local pilgrims who visit the ruins and leave offerings for the Elders. Palpatine walks along the path, occasionally stopping to stoop low to collect mountain flowers and tuck them into a Nubian novel he takes with him. It is a three mile walk, not insubstantial for a man who lives a sedentary life in administration, but he finds now that the destination isn't so important anymore. He takes his time, exploring offshoots from the main path leading to the burial grounds, opting to take a short break near a crystalline pool obscured by a grove of cedars and the almost opaque curtain of evergreen boughs. He sits on a moss-covered log, pressing the flimsy blue petals of the mountain flowers in between the pages he's already read. It's a novel about a young couple in love, each from feuding families who denounce their wealth and status to be able to marry. Granted, the last time he'd read it, he had been a boy himself - a budding romantic even amid the darkness growing inside of him, hoping to please Plagueis and still holding out hope in the fairy tales of his youth. He resumes his reading after the flowers are neatly pressed into their respective pages, even as he is able to recite most of the passages from memory, there is comfort in reading the elegant language of his people.

He falls asleep, waking to the sort of daylight that lends itself to mid-afternoon. The book lies, forgotten and unmarked, next to him. His neck is sore from falling asleep against the log on which he had been sitting; his ears prick when he hears the movement of water.

Through the curtain of evergreen boughs, pulled apart by a shaky, unsteady hand, he saw Anakin hunched over the pool. It didn't take long for him to discover that he had stirred from his accidental nap because Anakin was _singing_. The words of an old slaver song, probably learned from his former master on Tatooine, were a mixture of Basic and Huttese -Anakin somehow made the marriage of languages rather elegant, smoothing out the hard consonants with trills and turns in a tenor that made the hair on the back of the Chancellor's neck stand on end.

Anakin's hand was hovering over the water, causing it to ripple outward as he continued singing. It seemed to be a meditative practice, though quite different from the standard closed eyes, cross-legged method of the Jedi. Palpatine felt as though he were observing something painfully personal, the young Jedi clearly emotional but somehow also at peace.

Of course, he had known about the revenge enacted on the Tusken Raiders who had imprisoned and badly beaten Anakin's mother. Where the woman was a means to an end as far as he had been concerned, to Anakin she was the brightest point in the galaxy, and the only one for whom Anakin would go to any lengths to keep safe - including Padme, his off-and-on romantic partner. Were he able, he would have reached out to discern exactly how unsettled he was about his tempestuous relationship with the former Queen of Naboo; but he was content to intuit that it was enough to bring him out in the wilds of the lake country to audit those feelings.

He watched the boy for what seemed like quite a long time, until Anakin's voice, strained as it was with an emotion Palpatine couldn't name, faded into a pianissimo that tugged at the Chancellor. Something within him was growing; not just arousal, although the stirrings of a more physical need had long since begun - it was nothing that carnal and primordial. This was a feeling altogether foreign to Sheev, a man who had only ever looked upon others as instruments; tools to be used, and then discarded - sometimes in brutal ways - when he had no further need of them. He had once looked upon Anakin as such an instrument, meant only for the advancement of his plans; and being a strong candidate for a formidable apprentice when the time was right. Now, as he watched Anakin slide waist-deep into the pool and splash water on his chest and face, he wanted to do nothing else but cradle the boy in his arms. He wanted to soothe those savage wounds, and not just the protesting gash across his shoulder; he wanted to lightly kiss the shell of his ear, read the book he had brought with him - long forgotten now, sitting on a bed of moss as Palpatine couldn't turn his eyes away from Anakin. He wanted to tame the boy, to run his hands along the creases in his soul left by war and loss. Even he could willingly admit that the Jedi had be ill-purposed in the war, asked as they were to ascend a height of brutality that their code wouldn't normally allow.

Anakin's hair was wet and slicked back, rivulets of water sliding down a magnificently-sculpted torso. He looked a bit lean, but Palpatine was loathe not to acknowledge that even Jedi were not exempt from rations. Still, he didn't look as strong as he could have been, all sinew and dark circles around his eyes. Still pure; still beautiful. And Palpatine wanted to partake of that purity, perhaps to absolve himself of the role he was playing in creating such starved men - not just physically, Anakin showed signs of being emotionally bereft as well. It was more than Palpatine could bear in that moment. He truly had loved Anakin, though it was unclear how much of that love was bestowed because of what Anakin represented.

Was this the balance Qui Gon Jinn had dithered on about during his lifetime? A Sith Lord who would willingly and knowingly choose to cut himself off from the tradition of conquering mastery of the dark side is no Sith Lord at all - there was one once, whose name Palpatine recalled from a particularly intense lesson with Plagueis, and his master had only brought it up after Palpatine had shown an adverse emotional reaction to Plagueis striking down a Force-sensitive child early in Palpatine's apprenticeship.

 _"Have you ever heard the story of Darth Vectivus? Hardly deserving of the title for what a pantywaist he turned out to be. That is one holocron to whose so-called knowledge I forbid access. The fool had an entire galaxy at his fingertips, and he chose instead to_ love. _There is no greater sign of weakness, that he would forego his birthright as Sith to simply fade into a sea of forgettable beings who had every opportunity to rule the galaxy and didn't take it. We all have a choice, apprentice. Do not disappoint me in the one you ultimately make."_

Plagueis would have admonished and probably beaten him if he could see the choice Palpatine was making now. If Anakin could sense him, he wasn't showing it. Rather, he had emerged from the pool and toweled off, dressing behind a fan of similar evergreen boughs behind which Palpatine had enshrouded himself. Whistling, Anakin pulled on a gray tunic and loose-fitting linen pants, threading a cloth belt through the holes and securing his lightsaber on it. After putting on his black robe, he threw the hood on and took a cursory look around, blue eyes narrowed as he scanned the surrounding area - but shining with vulnerability.

Palpatine _knew_ that look. Anakin had felt something through the Force; undoubtedly, he was sensing the presence of another, but if his Force powers were as formidable as Palpatine suspected, Skywalker already knew that he was there. _Had been_ there.

He couldn't risk movement until Anakin was gone, but the vigilant Jedi didn't seem to be ready to give up his search for the offending presence.

"Hello?" His voice swallowed by a sea of pine needles beneath his feet, it seemed as if they were trapped in a game of taag and mouse in their own slice of the planet, separated from everything else - and it was this absence of sense, this crescendo of curious affirmation, that caused Palpatine to quietly mumble "Just me".

He got to his feet, running his hands along his cassock to slough off the dirt from being belly-down on the forest floor. Before he could stop himself, Palpatine began stuttering and stammering through a frantic explanation. "I was walking to the Elder Cairn, a site of great importance to many a Nubian, and I sat down on that log to read" he points to it, his index finger trembling "and before I knew it, I had fallen asleep. I woke up to your - your singing." He can feel the flush of his cheeks. Anakin sees this; sees right through him, for a fleeting, terrifying moment.

"It wasn't you I felt, although you were there as well - what is the Elder Cairn?"

He cannot describe how thankful he is for the change of subject, as he was most definitely not prepared to discuss seeing Anakin completely nude. "The Elder Cairn is a sacred space on Naboo. Many of the first humans in the galaxy are buried there, and it is an area said to contain a powerful Force presence. I imagine that is what you were feeling."

Anakin nods. "I was drawn to this particular place first, and I felt - I can't explain it. It was like being watched, but it was a neutral presence. When I tried to reach out to the source, I knew that you were here as well."

"I am so sorry, son. I've never known you to have any other talents beside those that are rooted in the Force. I suppose I'm a poor friend indeed if that is new information."

Anakin smiles, pulling back his hood. His hair is dark and damp still, fringe swept to the side and away from his eyes. Despite his rude interruption, Palpatine is loathe to admit that Skywalker doesn't look relaxed for the first time since their arrival. "I can't do it often in the Temple. Obi Wan says it's a sign of idleness. Truthfully, it's one of the few things that calmed me when I was a child."

"Well, as I was originally on my way to the Elder Cairn, would you like to accompany me? Perhaps you will be able to better interpret the energies that reside there."

"It would be my pleasure, Palpatine."

As they walked, Anakin sang a few more shorter songs that he'd learned - a bawdy Corellian tavern song, an Ithorian ballad so beautiful (after being translated into Basic) it nearly made Palpatine weep.

"Should you ever decide to abandon your path as a Jedi Knight, I am certain that the Galactic Opera would be ecstatic to find such a talent."

"You're kind, sir."

"I only pay compliments when their recipient is truly deserving. As you know, I make it a point to attend the opera - and some of those aurally questionable, plump Bothan tenors leave much to be desired."

Anakin laughed, clapping Palpatine on the back and offering his hand so that the older man could climb up to where the Elder Cairn lie just beyond. When they clasped hands, the sun shifted and haloed the Jedi's nearly-dry and dirty blond hair. He looked radiant, for once not overburdened by the immensity of the war. For the first time in Palpatine's life, he felt the heaviness of guilt as Anakin's index finger lingered too long on the side of his hand. A strange, resplendent surprise flashed across Anakin's features.

Their stroll through the Elder Cairn was done in silence, even a former slave able to recognize that they were standing on hallowed ground. He did stop to meditate, sitting cross-legged in the fashion of all his Jedi Masters, closing his eyes and levitating the surrounding stone, having long since fallen free of its original structure. It was an impressive display, an abiding oneness Anakin seemed to connect with on a visceral level. Palpatine felt the roots of jealousy take hold, but the sight of Anakin so blissfully at peace stopped him from bemoaning his own lack of Force sensitivity at present.

He stood just behind Anakin, confident that he was solely focused on his meditations and not the close proximity Palpatine was keeping. He held out a still-trembling hand, so close to the crown of Anakin's head. The need to touch him was overwhelming, but he did not wish to disturb the Jedi. Instead, he let his hand remain just above his head, content to let the waning light of day lull them both into their respective cogitation.


	3. where western glooms are gathering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anakin is struggling against the invisible weight of the war and Padme's pregnancy. Added to that is a growing concern for exactly what his friendship with Palpatine is becoming.
> 
> Anakin's POV of what happens during and after the encounter in the grove.

__

_He said if you dare, come a little closer_

****

* * *

He doesn't bother looking at the chrono; he knows it's impossibly early, and the straining warble of birdsong outside is a welcome change from the constant thrum of air traffic on Coruscant. He would have already been awake and meditating, or dueling with Obi-Wan were he back at the Temple. Instead, he finds himself unwilling to coax his aching body from shimmersilk sheets; his mind travels not to open itself to the Force, but to consider a curious twist of events from the day before.

As it happened, he'd had a nightmare. Padme was writhing in pain, crying and twisting blankets in her palms with perspiration dotting her forehead. She was screaming, crying out and saying something that he could not hear. He imagined she was begging for him to help her, but just as with Shmi on Tatooine, he never reached her in time. In every iteration of the dream, her body lie limp in his arms by the time he was able to get to her. So vivid were these nightmares that he could press his cheek against hers and feel the lifeless coldness, the endless despair draining from her body.

When he awoke in a twist of damp sheets, trying to catch his breath and furiously wiping tears from his eyes, it had taken him a full half hour to calm himself down. He'd meditated on the veranda after taking a shower so hot it nearly burned him, standing to face a brilliant sunrise on the balcony as a smattering of blues, purples, and oranges splayed across the valley and bathed Theed in an ethereal wash of color. He found some modicum of peace in the Force, but he needed to leave the confines of his quarters and so began walking through the wilds a fair distance from the Palace.

Whether or not the Force drew him to the grove, he couldn't say; it was some sort of otherworldly draw, and he knew that Naboo was rife with ancient energies that were informed by the Force. Regardless, when he came upon the grove and its crystal pool, he couldn't help himself. Growing up around sand and then coming into manhood amid the congested industrialization of Coruscant, the sight of untamed natural beauty was an awakening. His soul, separated from the endless responsibilities of war and the exacting standards of the Jedi Order, stood alone on its own merit in that place. There was something unspeakably _old_ about it, the water showing the reflection of a man - not the Hero With No Fear, not General Skywalker, not a Jedi Knight. Just a man. It was a visage he had been waiting to see for years, having become lost to the expectations to which he was held.

He sang, making the water dance and roil with a wave of his hand. He stripped down, wading into waist-deep water and allowing himself to simply _be_. 

It was as he removed his clothing (linen and a material softer than cotton; some Nubian invention that slid against the raw skin of his shoulder though not with discomfort) that he felt a presence near him. He reached out through the Force, and was surprised to come away with the familiar benevolence of the Chancellor.

And he was _watching_.

Anakin inhaled sharply. He hadn't considered that Palpatine would rise as early, but he wasn't surprised; the man probably ran on an impossibly strict internal clock. What had brought him to the grove? Further, it was so far removed from the beaten path that he would have had to have gone quite out of his way.

He's suddenly aware of his nudity, aware of the Chancellor's pale blue eyes drinking every contour and muscle; stopping, sorrowfully, at the injury still scarlet and raw. It isn't sexual, not the way Padme looks at him; but there's some distant want lingering on the edge of an admiration with which one would look upon a piece of fine art. Anakin knows that he has grown to be conventionally attractive, and if he's honest it's one of the baser pleasures he takes; knowing that his mandate of celibacy and righteousness precludes him from doing what he's doing now, for example.

And so he lets Palpatine in, lets his thoughts lull him into a frenzy as he can feel a tangible desire and an ardent admiration. This is new, something he is never shown in the Temple or on the battlefield. A certain protectiveness, a desire to have and to hold and to truly _listen_. This isn't the bond of a soldier; this is made of different stuff. Anakin wouldn't know. Padme is as close as he's ever gotten.

When he dresses again, he scans the perimeter of the grove and finds Palpatine almost immediately. Their eyes lock, he can _feel_ the Chancellor's pulse quicken. Anakin calms him just enough that only his hands shake when he explains that he had fallen asleep, you see, and he had been on his way to the Elder Cairn and would Anakin like to accompany him?

Their walk is companionable, and the Chancellor begs him to sing again - and so he does, a rich tenor that does in fact cause another wellsping of emotion to burst within Palpatine. It's odd; he's usually nothing but a cool, swift current in the Force, but ever since their arrival on Naboo it has become much easier to probe Palpatine's emotions.

Not that he makes a habit of it. He has to hold himself to some kind of standard; but in the grove, where nakedness of many kinds unveiled a different facet of their friendship, it didn't seem to matter. They took of their intimacy evenly, Anakin singing and running through the Chancellor's emotions while Palpatine himself would occasionally let his hand graze the back of Anakin's robes if he pulled ahead; sometimes sliding down, his small fingers meeting a large palm.

The Elder Cairn was indeed a place of immense Force presence, something the likes of which Anakin hadn't experienced previously. He'd heard that there were places in the galaxy that were points of powerful Force energies: Korriban, Dromund Kaas, Dagobah, Malachor. Naboo could rival even the homeworld of the Sith with the way the ground vibrated with the call of centuries-old Force adepts.

And to be here with Palpatine, who saw the importance of such a place even though he himself could not feel those energies, opened a window through which Anakin saw not the most powerful man in the galaxy, but a man of desire and need just like him. When he sang and saw his reflection in the pool, he saw himself. Nothing else. Perhaps Palpatine was experiencing the same thing walking through the Elder Cairn, dragging his fingertips along the cracked stone and humming to himself.

He offers his hand to Palpatine as the descend the hill in the waning daylight. The clouds have returned, though rain doesn't appear imminent. They take their time. Again, Palpatine's hand sometimes grasps the linen of Anakin's tunic to steady himself as they go; once again, Anakin leans into the slight touch without knowing why. He fights a protective angst, much like the one he feels for Padme, but something about this variation is different. He doesn't know. He doesn't know anything in that moment but the Chancellor's eyes, the Chancellor's baritone shimmersilk timbre, the Chancellor's utter grace even moving through what is essentially a swamp.

Dinner is a quiet affair. Palpatine isn't talkative, and Anakin can tell that he desperately doesn't want to discuss what happened in the grove. If he's honest, Anakin doesn't want to revisit nor forget.

He asks him in a voice a node above a whisper: "Did you watch me?" And the subsequent slow, steady nod is all he needs.

"Senator Amidala is pregnant", he blurts. He wasn't planning on saying anything, but he desperately needed to cut the silence.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Senator Amidala is pregnant with my child."

Palpatine nods again, but there is a strange fire alight in his eyes. Anakin can feel it, curling around them in waving folds of the Force. this is not what the Chancellor wanted to hear. He feels a tinge of jealousy emanating from an otherwise polished countenance, but it's gone in the span of a blink.

"You are of course aware that celibacy is a strict requirement of Jedi."

"I know. It was a moment of - weakness. Passion."

"Ah, now that is something the Naboo know well. I imagine Senator Amidala welcomed you to her bed with the same alacrity with which she attacks her vast political duty."

"I'm - having nightmares. The war, certainly, but many of them center around our - our child. The birth will kill her. I've seen this future, sir."

Palpatine inclines his regal neck, looking almost paternal. "There are many possible futures" he says softly, almost inaudibly. "That is but one of thousands. At least, that is perhaps what the Jedi would tell you."

"It's so vivid. I wake up in a cold sweat nearly every night. And the war -"

"I will not absolve you for breaking your the code of your Order, but I can tell you that you are not a god, Anakin. You are the most powerful Jedi I have ever met, but you are not a deity capable of withstanding endless attacks on your conscience; to say nothing of what the war has done to your body and soul." His eyes fall to the approximate location of Anakin's now-clothed wound; again, the Jedi Knight takes a sharp inhalation of breath. It's almost like the Chancellor is undressing him in a spiritual sense, laying bare the darkest proclivities and soothing them with nothing but the sympathetic steeple of his eyebrows. His shoulders slump.

"You would not be the first Jedi to succumb to desires of the flesh, Anakin. I do believe your beloved Master Obi-Wan was once involved with a duchess, in point of fact, and _his_ Master Qui Gon Jinn was, as you may remember, quite a cad. Not to mention a notorious Sabaac cheater."

Anakin laughs in spite of himself. "How do you know all of this?"

"An Order based upon the precarious premise of utter celibacy and complete devotion is no Order at all; it is chaos born of placing arbitrary restrictions on one's thoughts and actions. Through allowing ourselves to experience life and the fullness those experiences offer, why wallow in a state of forced spiritual abstinence? The alternative is so much richer. The late Jedi Master Qui Gon Jinn came the closest to understanding this, I believe."

The way Palpatine said the words 'richer' and 'abstinence' made his heart stop for what felt like several seconds. This is a man who has sacrificed his entire life to the service of both Naboo and the galaxy at large; no other being could claim a larger contribution to the ideals of peace and prosperity, and working to make them a reality. Not even the Jedi could claim this. Suddenly, Anakin feels exposed; much like how his nakedness found itself under the abiding gaze of the Chancellor earlier in the grove.

"Did you - were you embarrassed, looking at me?"

 _This is vanity_. He heard Obi-Wan's grating admonishment sounding in his head like an alarm. He had stopped caring about his master's relentless criticisms of Anakin's moral failings for the moment, searching the lines of Palpatine's face for a sign that he was not alone in this new facet of their friendship - if that's even what it was.

"My dear boy, there is no part of you I would not wish to see laid bare - within or without. You are entirely given to _duty_ , to _honor_ , to _restraint_. To see you as you are, divested of your stations in life, is quite literally" he looks straight into Anakin's eyes, unblinking "the greatest gift you could give to me. And it is a gift you ought not be ashamed of."

There is a bright flash of intensity through the Force, a deep chasm filled with a steady, abiding love second only to what Anakin had felt emanate from his mother years ago. This love was not the wanton physical desire he felt from Padme; it was not the haughty benevolence or brotherly camaraderie of a mentor - and friend, were Anakin honest about Obi-Wan in his fullness. What coursed through his body was an appreciation; not a fistful of sheets and a rough rut, but a bridge built with respect; respect, an ocean's depth worth of it, and sighs. There is a hunger in Palpatine, a need for connection beyond the mundane senatorial duties, beyond the constant and ever-flowing river of conflict and unforeseen change. Anakin can feel this, can feel it directed solely toward _him_ , despite his confession about Padme.

"He never told me about Duchess Satine."

"Did he have to?"

_Search your feelings. It was none of your business._

Message received.

"Master Obi-Wan is far better than I at masking his feelings, taming them. I feel sometimes that I feed off of my passions, although I know that's not what he taught me. Not what I should be doing."

"There existed long ago a Sith Lord who refused his Dark Side mandate to attempt conquering the galaxy. He instead redirected his energy toward caring for his loved ones. We are capable of superseding our natures, of transcending ourselves to accomplish a higher purpose. You are no different."

"Yes, I suppose you're right. I'd never learned about such a Sith Lord."

Palpatine shrugs, the fine material of his robe moving with the slight rounding of his shoulders. "It isn't a story the Jedi would tell you. It promotes the belief that we possess our own agency, and that isn't a belief your Order propagates. Theirs is a cloistered organization, meant to represent all Jedi who operate under the same set of expectations and mandates."

Anakin takes a bite of food, more to satisfy the concerned Chancellor than actual hunger. Some kind of divine caramelized vegetable melts on his tongue, and he remembers an appetite he never thought would return.

When Palpatine asks him if he would like a night cap, the older man laughs when Anakin tilts his head in confusion. "A colloquialism meant to inquire after the desire for a shared alcoholic beverage. I see there are even terms you do not know, Anakin."

He smiles. "It would be my pleasure, sir."

Somewhere along the way, he'd dispensed with calling the Chancellor by his last name. Padme had once told him that His Excellency did have a first name, but it was a safely-guarded secret and no matter how many nips along her neck he planted, she would not divulge it.

They sit in a room only lit by ambient candlelight from the hall just beyond, a sort of living area meant for diplomatic guests to receive visitors. His personal quarters lie just beyond, and Anakin makes a concerted effort not to look over Palpatine's shoulder toward the door too much.

He pours, to Anakin's horror, illegal Corellian brandy from a scarlet crystal decanter.

"Sir, this is contraband!"

"It is only contraband when it is in the hands of those who would misuse it. We are simply enjoying it."

"You have a gift for justification, sir."

Palpatine hands Anakin a drink and settles himself again, straightening and arranging his robes before taking a hardy sip. "Like fire in the throat. I do not partake often, but when I do it is almost as if the goddess herself created this elixir."

Anakin takes a sip and nearly spits it out. "It's strong, sir." He struggles, but eventually swallows - and the warmth in his belly is divine.

"It's good", he concedes. Palpatine chuckles darkly. "Whatever happened to you calling me 'Palpatine'?"

"It doesn't feel right."

"After the moment we shared in the grove, you would insult me by withdrawing your intimacy?"

 _Intimacy_. Anakin had next to no idea what that actually meant; his life as a slave was without love, save for the maternal love of his mother. Obi-Wan loved him and shared a Force bond to some extent, but that had been rent asunder by Qui Gon's death - and regardless of what Obi-Wan had told him, Anakin knew that he had never truly addressed and dealt with his master's death.

Intimacy. Two men with similar but not identical callings. Service, self-sacrifice, and to a certain extent, fidelity to those ideals. A common goal, and few people and places to and with whom to go to seek comfort during it all.

"Master Kenobi exists an individual in addition to being a Jedi. My goal has always been to show you that the same is true of you, although perhaps that lesson is best learned at the conclusion of the war."

There seemed to be no end. If Anakin hadn't known better, he would think that it had been purposefully orchestrated as an indefinite conflict.

"Palpatine." He says his name, finally, and it's a little breathless and he hates himself for the desperation it denotes. In the interest of being only Anakin Skywalker, he dismisses the misgiving with a slow, grasping reach of his organic hand to move a strand of white hair from Palpatine's eyes. He shivers when his touch meets delicate, pale flesh.

"Ah, there you are, Anakin."

By the time the moons have risen, their conversation is steered toward less heady topics.

* * *

****

"Master Yoda has gone. He means to learn how to become one with the Cosmic Force to combat the growing darkness. The Temple has suffered a decided lack of raps with a mahogany cane of late." Obi-Wan's voice dances with mirth, and Anakin feels nothing but relaxation from his mentor. "I foresee many thankful younglings, then." Obi-Wan laughs at this.

"Yes, though there are sieges being planned as we speak for the Outer Rim. How are you faring on Naboo?"

It's a complicated question. He anticipated it, which is why he spent the morning raising his mental shields in preparation for contact with his master. "Restful. A retreat."

The holographic image of Obi-Wan nods emphatically. "Good. That is what it was meant to accomplish. You still have a few weeks left; use that time to find your center, Anakin. I have felt a certain wandering search within you. Look no further than what I have taught you, and there you will find the truth."

"Not all those who wander are lost, master."

Obi-Wan smiles wanly. "I suppose, but remember; those who wander are not Jedi. They lack the discipline of a common goal: to become a conduit for the Force, to act according to its will, and to do so happily."

"Yes, master."

"Don't let the decadence of the Naboo culture deter you from what you have learned. Be mindful."

"I will." With a final wave, the hologram disappears and Obi-Wan is gone. Alone in his quarters, Anakin sighs heavily and sits back against the plush comfort of an _decadent Naboo_ davenport.

It isn't that he wants to consciously betray his teachings. He understands the need to adhere to the tenets of the Order; therein is balance secured - or at least, that's what Obi-Wan had taught him. For true balance to reign, must there not be a give and take? Must there be _both_ darkness, and light to meet it?

****

****

**  
  
**

The carpet of myrtles have shifted in color from a brilliant orange to a dull brown. It is colder than normal, although with the winter cycle not far away, it isn't unheard of for the flora and fauna of Naboo to begin showing signs of change. The season of autumn only lasts for one standard month on his homeworld, but Palpatine once again finds a parallel between the persistent growth beneath him and the shift in relationship playing out between himself and Anakin.

He had most certainly enjoyed the sight of a powerful, elegant Jedi in the nude. To think otherwise would be a lie, and to hide his desire behind feigned demureness isn't what Anakin needs.

Or wants, if he knows the young Jedi at all.

Like the myrtles, the flowing current of their interactions all point toward one outcome. The color of their interactions has changed from a pure white to a rosy pink; not the full-blown scarlet of unbridled passion, but it could be thus if Palpatine wanted it badly enough.

And he did.

Anakin's powers in the Force are one thing; there is no one in the galaxy like him. There is only one Chosen One, and he is destined to bring balance to the Force. As with anything else, this is a matter of perception; 'balance' means many different things to many different people, depending on one's interpretation of the prophecy. It's all a point of view.

Balance on a smaller scale would be giving in to more carnal desires, but curiously Anakin has already done this. He knew, of course, long ago when the boy returned from the Lake Country and Amidala was practically incandescent. That the Jedi hadn't seen this was further evidence of how disconnected the Order was from the rest of the galaxy, how it worked and how people should truly _live_.

When Palpatine had awoken that morning, he noticed immediately that there were no lines in his face at all anymore. The constant strain of the Dark Side had been purged from him, but the loss of his connection was beginning to wear on him. He too had a secret duty, that is the one to satisfy a plan decades in the making, but as of this particular moment it wasn't so pressing that he felt the need to receive the Dark Side and the Force back into himself.

The leaves of the myrtles are even thinner. Some of them snap off from the vines, increasingly delicate with the change in the weather. Palpatine frowns.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Perspective shifts back to Palpatine at the end of this chapter, and it's longer than the previous two.  
> 2\. Palps uses the tale of Darth Vectivus rather than that of his former master, Darth Plagueis the Wise. By separating himself from the Force, Palps is better able to see that there must be balance in order for the universe to thrive - but whether this belief will endure after he resumes his connection to the Dark Side is unlikely.


	4. hell is more than half of paradise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anakin attends a traditional Naboo dance. Palpatine becomes much more than a mentor; much more than a Chancellor.

_a cold sweat hot headed believer_

****

****

* * *

He hadn't planned on their arrival aligning with an ancient Naboo festival, although it made for a gorgeous spectacle. Part of Palpatine's carefully cultivated image revolved around a certain nationalism; he did love his home planet, and to a measured extent he loved its culture as well. While he normally found the pomp and circumstance contrived and cloying, at this juncture - and without what he had realized were inherently negative slants the dark side imposed itself on everything - he observed the preparation for the Feast of King Veruna to be visually arresting. The Naboo were known for their veneration of their long-dead monarchs and patriarchs, and it was illustrated beautifully in heightened dress, makeup, and music.

Palpatine had always loved music, especially that of his native home. To hear traditional music played on stringed instruments that still smelled of the pine and oak with which they had been crafted was nothing short of magnificent. When he rose early to the melodic line of a familiar folk song played with a single lute, he hummed the harmonic line as he stepped into the 'fresher.

Linen and simple earth-toned cassocks would not do on this feast day. He had gone to a tailor who had prepared a garment specifically for this occasion: a royal blue to complement his eyes, inlaid with infinitesimally intricate blue stitching and embroidery of a similar but slightly darker jewel-toned variant. The obi had been woven by hand, a narrow cincture of the same color piped in gradient embroidered shades of an even darker blue. Unlike many traditional garments, the shoulders were not embellished; he wore simple epaulets on either shoulder, secured with gold buttons under which was fastened a deep maroon sash to denote his ties to both the nobility of Naboo and his position as the Supreme Chancellor. The droids who dressed him did so with precision and speed, each strap holding his voluminous robe together clasped tightly and securely, which would be imperative since it was expected that Palpatine would lead the famous Pas de Veruna. It is a dance that every Naboo native practically emerged from the womb knowing, and it was by far his favorite of the ancient dances. Each movement symbolized the thirteen years of King Veruna's rule, each step an enemy crushed under his mighty warriorship. He had not attended a Feast in several years, but as he practiced a few of the movements in his robe, his muscle memory took over.

It isn't a bold dance, nor is it meant to be particularly flashy. Slight manipulations of the wrists, then fluid, elegant manipulations of the arms and the legs mirroring them. There are some Naboo words spoken throughout, bits of prose to provide a narrative for whichever year of the king's reign is being shown through the dance. It comes back to Palpatine as though no time had passed at all since the last time he performed it as a young senator.

It was a good thing too, that he remembered without having to think about it too much; foremost on his mind was Anakin, who seemed to have slept in rather late as the hour was coming up on a standard 0900. Temporarily pushing the thoughts of the young wayward Jedi from his mind, Palpatine finished his impromptu rehearsal just as his personal Palace guard, a young man barely old enough to shave his face, purposefully rapped on his door.

"Your Excellency, I have been sent to collect you. The Queen wishes an audience before the festivities begin."

"Ah, yes of course. I will be along presently; I am just completing my own preparations. I'll be but a moment."

"Yes, sir."

Ah, an escort. He couldn't go anywhere in an official capacity without one; in fact, it was nearly forbidden that he go anywhere without Anakin but somehow he'd managed that during his initial jaunt to the Elder Cairn. In point of fact, that was the only time he had been without his Jedi liaison; perhaps that was just as well, considering the most recent developments.

He stood in front of the vast gold-bordered mirror with nothing left to do but comb his hair and apply a scent of myrrh, pinewood, and a hint of sage. It was a musky fragrance which is said to have brought King Veruna good luck in battle, normally only procured by the wealthiest denizens of Naboo and quietly reserved for nobility. As Palpatine was both, he applied the tincture to either side of his neck, behind his ears, on his wrists, and trailed a line of it down his robe. Normally he is not allowed the use of scent as Chancellor, considering the various sensitivities of the multitudes of races packed into the senatorial chamber. On this day, he could completely assume the dress of his people, and scent was part of the presentation.

He had a feeling that Anakin would appreciate it, besides.

His hair was another matter - he too had allowed it to grow a bit longer, favoring a slicked-back coif while on Coruscant only for the purpose of cutting his personal grooming time considering he had precious few moments to himself. He'd cut corners; he had grown somewhat thicker around the waist, but was still of an average girth. Food tasted _good_ again, the need to nourish himself as normal sentients do - rather than subsisting on very little food and relying on the dark side to sustain him - returning with a mighty hunger. No matter; Anakin didn't seem to mind. It only mattered what Anakin thought here and now, and Naboo would not balk at a son with a healthy body. He parted his hair, using product to hold it in place and leaving just a few strands held together by the beauty adhesive hanging just above his left eye. All the better to entice Anakin to move it away.

Gods, had that made him _sweat_. There had been no warning, just a large hand, seemingly indelicate but with a touch light as a feather, pushing away his hair and grazing the corner of his eye. It was enough to bring a man to his knees.

The guard knocked again. "Sir, we really must be going. The Queen will take exception to tardiness."

"Yes, yes - I'm finished." Palpatine opened the great door, the young guard taken aback by what Palpatine _knew_ was the best he had ever looked excepting the days when his hair was luxurious and auburn. Age could look just as ravishing as youth.

"Oh, do tell me I haven't forgotten anything of vital importance. It has been so long since I found myself participating in the traditions of my homeworld."

"N-n-no, Your Excellency."

"Very good. Now dispatch that curious look and take me to Her Majesty."

"Yes, sir."

 _Perfect_ ,Palpatine mused to himself as he strode proudly in front of the guard who had to nearly jog to keep up with him.

****

* * *

Part of being a Jedi was acknowledging and celebrating other cultures, but this was ridiculous. There was a _line_ , and somewhere between the high-necked starched white military tunic and exaggerated syntheleather boots passed his knees, that line had been crossed. Add to that skin-tight black syntheleather breeches with a highly-polished saber hanging from a black syntheleather shoulder frog (replacing his lightsaber, which was crudely secured to the inside of one of the aforementioned offending boots), and the picture of utter depravity was complete.

There had been a time in the not-so-distant past when Anakin had openly mocked the gaudiness of anything visual originating from Naboo, especially those prohibitive gowns she had to wear when she was queen. Padme had explained that the Naboo are a proud people, and that pride extends to how they present themselves.

She then followed it up with a particularly rude comment about Anakin's brown and tan padawan robes; something about looking like a walking piece of excrement. He'd giggled along with her - little did he know that turnabout would indeed be fair play, and he would at one time also wear a similarly asinine garment.

It wasn't bad, the way he looked. The cut of the tunic complemented his long, slim torso; the breeches had some give to them, and the crinkle of leather was an almost erotic sound. He felt completely exposed, out of his element (and just as he was getting used to the idea of linen) and horrified that the more he turned to critique his reflection, the more he thought he cut a striking figure.

If Padme could see him now, she be in stitches.

His dancing lessons had been a bit easier, if only because he tapped into the Force to allow him the freedom of movement he otherwise wouldn't have been able to attain. The dance itself was simple though not insubstantial in length, but he was duty-bound to pay homage to the Queen and the people of Naboo by participating.

He had actually slept fitfully and without the nightmares to which he had long since expected and become accustomed, but he was also fatigued. Baring his soul to the Supreme Chancellor had not been among the items on his agenda, such as it was (he'd gone to Naboo against his will, in fact, and hadn't planned on doing anything beyond endless drills with his lightsaber and hours of meditation) but that was only partially what had ended up happening. He didn't regret his newfound intimacy with Palpatine, but he was wary of it. He had wrestled with his conscience, with the nagging voice in his mind - the voice that sounded so much like Obi-Wan - and its endless parade of chastisement. Did he care? And was there a point in wrapping himself in a perception of the Chancellor's behavior when there was little evidence to point to anything beyond friendly companionship?

As usual, he worked himself into an existential frenzy over something as inconsequential as a glass of brandy.

 _Don't you want to know for sure? Isn't it obvious that the man craves your attention, your high opinion - your_ affection? __

His mind wandered to how Palpatine would react when he beheld him, dressed in a resplendent uniform so far from the plain humility of his Jedi robes. Would he laugh at him?

There was no need to maintain the shields he had raised in the Force when he spoke with Obi-Wan, and so he let them fall one by one. In their place, as he walked through the Palace, were faint tendrils of desire. He was attractive, he knew this. Never before had he allowed himself to take delight in that knowledge, for doing so also crossed a forbidden boundary set by the Jedi Order.

Fuck the Order. Tonight, he was _Anakin_. Just Anakin. There were no rules, no tenets, no Code. He had finally wrapped his mind around and settled upon the idea of the self, apart from the invisible lines that dissected him and devalued him to multifarious parts that had nothing to do with what he himself wanted and, more than that, what he needed.

And what he needed was to be seen. As he moved through the marble halls, his footfalls echoing and reverberating up into the vaulted ceiling, he felt what he needed on the minds of every sentient being he passed.

He was right on time. When the guards guided him into doors leading into the Queen's great chamber, all eyes turned to him; but his caught hold an immediate death grip of who was by far the most regal individual in the room, even above the sovereign beauty of Naboo's young queen: Supreme Chancellor Palpatine, clothed in a miraculous robe of damning, bright, sky-shattering blue.

Anakin snapped to immediately, having momentarily forgotten himself in the splendor that was Palpatine. "Your Majesty" he offered hoarsely yet thankfully full-voiced, bowing low at the waist.

"Honored Jedi - your presence here only serves to make this day both an historic and exponentially grander occasion. Please, do sit."

The briefing was simple, mostly for strategic purposes as there were several visiting dignitaries (not to mention several Republic senators, though Padme was not among them) who required personal guards. He should have been paying attention, and in truth he was listening but the words might as well have been spoken in their native tongue - which he knew precious little of, just enough to have successfully wooed Padme with his clumsy Nubian praises. Sneaking the occasional glance at Palpatine would have been dangerous, as a lingering gaze would cause suspicion and Anakin hadn't yet been able to discern what exactly he was feeling other than that his syntheleather breeches fit him a little too well.

It was over in fifteen minutes, and he had just managed to conquer the curious scarlet tinge in his cheeks. He knew he had been flush, and his palms were sweating. The origin of those physiological responses were no match for a smooth glide into the surety of the Force, and by the time he rose from his seat, he had regained most of his composure.

Only to come close to losing it again when the Chancellor actually _spoke_ to him, shattering a teetering grip on civility. What was this?

"Jedi Skywalker, are you listening? Or are those trousers a bit too tight?" The Chancellor's silver-tongued query caused a smattering of chuckles throughout the room.

Anakin was proud of a quick recovery. "They are a far cry from the simple robes of my Order, Your Excellency." He even offered a bow at the neck. _Seriously, what_ is _this?_

"Do walk with me around the gardens. There are still almost two standard hours before the Feast proper begins, and I don't think you've seen them."

Happy to quit the company of the room, Anakin trailed behind the Chancellor - who seemed to be floating on air - as they made a swift exit into the high-walled gardens just beyond.

"Her Majesty is beside herself with happiness that you are here. The Naboo are historically quite Force-sensitive, and it is rumored that the Queen Herself shows such proclivities."

"It was as if she could see right through me."

"In fact that is what makes her an effective ruler: Her Majesty is veritably clairvoyant, though you showed no signs of duress in meeting her, not to mention sharing a space with so many of her stuffy cabinet. Well done, Anakin."

Praise is a rare gift Obi-Wan infrequently bestows on his apprentice, but Palpatine is as quick to award it as Obi-Wan is to criticize. There is not a single cloud in the sky, though a slight breeze rustles the hem of the Chancellor's robe and it makes a pleasing sound as they walk. Anakin can't help but feel clumsy in his noisy uniform, having to hold the hilt of the saber with his non-organic hand (covered in a black syntheleather glove), though out of the corner of his eye he catches Palpatine unable to avert his own gaze - and Anakin feels a similar wanting as he had walking through the Palace, though it is significantly muted.

"How does it fit?"

"Sir?"

" _Palpatine_ , when it is just the two of us. The uniform - I admit, I guessed your measurements."

"It fits well. Thank you; I had just assumed I would wear my robes, and this is taking some getting used to."

"A traditional military uniform from a bygone era. Admittedly a dress uniform, not one that was ever worn in battle, but I didn't think you owned and formal attire. Forgive me if I was presumptuous."

"Not at all. This is the finest thing I've ever worn." He tugs at the high collar, fidgeting with his hair - which he had trimmed and combed, a high pompadour in a more polished look without a single strand of hair out of place. "I've spent so much time just throwing on armor, dueling pants - things I can move easily in. I don't know what it's like to - to dress fancily. Sir."

Palpatine offers an exasperated sigh. "Anakin, come now. Please. This is just _us_. Are we not closer than we were when we first arrived?"

They had stopped walking, Palpatine stooping to nearly plant his entire face in a fragrant blossom Anakin didn't recognize but which was undoubtedly native to Naboo. "Of course. I didn't think it was possible."

"All things are possible. All things are probable if fed with the proper nourishment, including interpersonal relationships. I think of you less as a colleague and more as a dear friend. I hope that does not overburden you."

"No, Palpatine." The name is still foreign on his tongue; without thinking, he asks the taboo question. "Do you have a first name?"

For a moment, the Chancellor's face is entirely unreadable. "We all have names. I have been known by many throughout my years in public service, and more still as a young idealistic man who wanted nothing more than to change the galaxy. My name at birth is Sheev, though not many are privy to this. I believe our recent _closeness_ " Anakin's stomach turns at Palpatine's emphasis on the word "would perhaps denote your entitlement to know my name. A name, like everything else about the Naboo, is sacred. I entrust you with its secrecy, and its intimacy."

He would never speak it aloud. To hear Palpatine say it, with the slight definition between the double vowel and a teasing elongation of the final consonant in his native accent, was intoxicating. The entire picture - a noble man with snow white hair, encased in swirls of such an impossibly royal hue - was startling on its own, let alone when the man spoke such an aching, gorgeous secret. His name. What could be a higher honor than to know his name?

"You seem perturbed. Was that not what you were expecting?"

Anakin shakes his head emphatically. "Not at all, it's just that I - I understand why it's so important, why your name would be such an intimate piece of who you are. I believe that's what we were discussing last night; separating our selves from what we do. Displaying, openly, who we are on a fundamental level."

When Palpatine smiles, it rivals the rays of the sun and makes Anakin shiver. "Yes. That is it precisely. I do believe Master Kenobi doesn't afford you the credit you deserve, my boy."

The grip around his waist grows more insistent, but no one is touching him. Anakin feels it all the same, and leans into the pressure to find the warmth within it. He is not disappointed when Palpatine - Sheev - Chancellor - rests his head against Anakin's chest; a sign of friendship, a slight show of devotion.

****

* * *

By the time the Feast begins, Naboo is clothed in the dark of night. All manner of equally well-dressed nobles, gentry, vestry, military, and diplomats from all over the galaxy are congregated in the grand hall. The high-gloss Kasshyyk oak floors are polished so that the reflections of the revelers shine so brightly they look like clones, whirling around the ballroom in a waltz. Anakin watches from the wings, a young woman smiling up at the Chancellor as he expertly whisks her around in an infinite loop, the swell of a stringed orchestra washing over all assembled like great tonal waves.

Anakin had long since run out of words to describe the fervor of it all, the intense euphoric bliss of togetherness, the harmony of breaking bread and celebrating life. The Jedi were solitary in their joy, but here Anakin found himself equally sharing in it; drinking it greedily with his eyes, tasting it on the tip of his tongue.

Palpatine bowed and planted a gentle kiss on the hand of the (rather comely) maiden with whom he had been dancing, and excused himself to rejoin Anakin. "Don't you fancy a turn, Anakin? I'm certain you would have your choice selection of dance partner."

"With respect, not unless they don't mind two left feet."

"Oh, _Anakin_. Hardly any of these debutantes are dancing with me because I'm the most fetching man in the room. It is only to say that they danced with the Chancellor; fodder for the HoloNet. You know how it is."

He did. Many times his heroism had been displayed for all the galaxy to consume, to know the Hero With No Fear. Here he enjoyed the anonymity of being an outsider; Jedi don't dance, besides.

"The Pas de Veruna will begin soon, and I must lead it. It would mean so much to me if you opened yourself to the experience of being part of this celebration, Anakin."

Such a request was impossible to deny, and they both knew it. Anakin readjusted the frog and saber, offering a timid nod at a passing maiden who looked much like the one with whom Palpatine had just been dancing.

Another waltz began, this one much slower than the previous piece. He knew the main steps, having learned on the tops of his mother's feet during rare times of mirth and merriment when it was just the two of them, dancing around the small kitchen and bursting into fits of laughter from deep in their bellies when Shmi would trip and they would both go tumbling to the floor.

He wrapped his arm around the young woman's waist, finding comfort in the Force as the music swelled to impassioned crescendo, dying down to melodic embers only to be quickened somewhat with the introduction of an allegretto countersubject. The young woman, for her part, didn't seem to mind Anakin's company; he smiled down at her, pulling her closer to him. If he had been able to chance closing his eyes, it might have felt like Padme in his arms.

Oh, but how he missed her. Of all the things about Coruscant he could have missed - the Temple, Obi-Wan, Snips - he missed Padme most of all.

The dance ended, and he bowed and kissed his blonde dance partner's hand. She blushed wildly, moving quickly through the crowd to rejoin her companions, waving at him and frantically whispering something to them as they all turned to smile and giggle.

Ridiculous. Ridiculous, and lovely, and utterly perfect. When he strode back toward where he had left Palpatine, the Chancellor was gone. The sound of a knife against crystal called his attention to the front of the grand ballroom, where he found Palpatine - if it were possible, he had somehow managed to strike a balance between gorgeous and authoritative - holding aloft a glass with some sort of clear liquid in it. "Ladies and Gentlemen of Naboo; honored guests. It is my privilege to lead us all in the traditional Pas de Veruna, a celebration of the feast of our once grand king, and to pay homage to Her Majesty and the unequaled beauty of our native land." The room erupted in rowdy applause, but quieted once Palpatine smiled and raised hands, palms facing out, toward the waiting crowd. "It is an honor greater than perhaps even my Chancellorship to have been asked to perform this ancient rite, which acts as a benediction not only for this auspicious evening, but as a portend of peace and prosperity to come." Another wave of rapturous applause, and Palpatine stood tall to receive it next to the Queen and her devastatingly beautiful handmaidens and gentiluomo, men wearing silk hose with knee-length breeches, lace cravats, and ornate great coats. Anakin couldn't tear his eyes away from the man, and it was then that he knew. He knew, it became conscious knowledge, and after that there was no going back:

He was Anakin, and _he_ was Sheev, and they were bound together by something whose enormity rivaled that of the Force itself.

He was a promise. A beacon of hope, not just for the galaxy but for Anakin himself. Tears flirted with the corners of his eyes as the opening bars of the Pas de Veruna strained over the settling din - a single five-stringed instrument with a deeper pitch than the others and played sitting down, a bow of nerf hair slid across its strings.

Palpatine began, holding his left hand parallel to his nose with his elbow bent at a perfect ninety-degree angle, thumb lightly pressed against his middle finger with the index, ring, and pinkie extended. He rotated his wrist slowly, until the same configuration faced outward, and it was then that Anakin looked around him to see everyone else in the room (with few exceptions, likely not Naboo natives) standing and respectfully watching. Palpatine then shifted his weight from his left to his right leg, crossing his torso with his left hand and releasing the hold of his fingers, pushing outward with both arms; his hands held parallel to the ground, palms facing outward while slowly, languorously moving them up and down the length of his upper body in time to the music. He turned his body then, pointing his toe with his foot and leg forming one graceful line, extending a foot and a half to the side. Anakin recognized this part of the dance as King Veruna's declaration of war and sovereignty, a powerful display though just as languid as the peaceful, delicate movements of his wrists. Palpatine's Nubian narration was spoken in a sub-glottal voice Anakin hardly recognized as his, but the combination of spoken word and the strangely elegant movements of his body was a stunning marriage indeed; Anakin remembered to breathe, not wanting to do so for fear that even a single inhalation could upset the balance of the magic unfolding before him.

Facing the crowd again, Palpatine turned his right hand with his palm facing him, a minute movement of his hand outstretched as he panned across the span of the room, the ebb and flow of his speech matching the portion of the dance in which there was peace on Naboo after King Veruna's military victory. He brings his left arm up, but does so along the upper part of his leg, dragging his hand slowly up, following the line of his body until both of his arms are outstretched. This is the only part of the dance whose narrative Anakin knows:

 _And here I stand, subservient but sovereign; benevolent, but do I make thee tremble in need and fidelity to my will, that we may feel the sun yet shine again on thy countenance, O feared and elevated sons and daughters of Naboo."_

The music ends, and Palpatine holds his position, his arms outstretched with his palms facing the sky. The final note is held, the player adding just a hint of vibrato as the note disappears into air.

And then the room is quiet for as long as it takes to draw a breath low and deep into the body, and at the same time each participant gives up their final pose and it is utter chaos. The Queen, who normally irons out any emotion in her voice and mien, is clapping and smiling broadly. Palpatine turns to bow, to kiss the hand of his Sovereign, and the place could collapse with the cacophony of victorious cheers.

It lasts for entire minutes at a time, Palpatine smiling broadly and showing teeth as he waves to his people, for once not a Chancellor but every bit the man Anakin spied in the grove; had they not hidden from each other until that day? And now, in glorious splendor, was a man he hardly recognized as the world-weary, doom-driven servant of the Grand Republic. This was only a man, a beloved man, and one whom Anakin could say beyond a shadow of a doubt that he adulated so that his presence rivaled the brilliance of the stars themselves.

And then it was over, and Palpatine was standing next to him and breathing heavily. "I am no longer a young man, and I fear that display just proved it."

"No, Sheev. You are not a young man; you are timeless." And it's out of his mouth before he can think, caught up as he is in the moment. Palpatine searches Anakin's eyes, catching a forgotten and embarrassing tear between his thumb and index finger. To Anakin's horror, he _tastes_ it.

"My name belongs on your tongue." And to illustrate this, to allow it, Palpatine places the pad of his index finger, still salty with Anakin's tears, to rest on his lips. "Do not forget, from this day forward, that you were dear to me. Are. Live today, dear boy. Live for the life around you, let it overtake any misgivings you may have left. Let this be your rebirth."

They are the honeyed words of a man drunk on ecstasy, but they are no less true for their intoxication. Anakin lets the tears fall silently, and they watch as the waltzes resume and the space seems to burst at the seems with love and radiance unlike anything Anakin would ever see again in his lifetime.

****

* * *

It is late when Anakin walks over the threshold into his rooms, his feet burning after dutifully wearing the leather boots all evening. He pulls them off, unbuckling the frog and placing it on the chaise opposite where he sits, fidgeting with the thick gold buttons of his tunic. That too is discarded, the breeches following in short order as he limps into the 'fresher.

Somehow he had narrowly avoided bleeding through the thick gabardine tunic; his wound gave off an odor that signaled infection, blood and water coiling around his feet. He hadn't been able to find any bacta patches nearby or even in his rooms, and so he prepared a bitter tea when he emerged from a billow of steam, painfully pulling on his linen trousers and foregoing the matching tunic. Sleep would be almost impossible given the amount of pain he was experiencing, but he meditated while the tea dissolved into scalding hot water. After fifteen minutes of razor-sharp focus, the pain had diminished to a dull throb.

He didn't remember falling asleep; just that he awoke to screaming, and a pain that rivaled the feverish ecstasy of the ball.

****

* * *

"Anakin? Anakin!"

The room was out of focus, but he recognized the disembodied voice of the Chancellor immediately. "He's breathing, but he'll need that shoulder looked at if he wants to make it through the night." Probably one of the guards, Anakin was barely able to make out the thought.

"Go and fetch bacta patches and a med droid. We simply cannot allow this to continue; I knew he hadn't been taking proper care of this injury. Go! Quickly!"

Everything went black. Palpatine was saying something, but the words were lightyears away.

* * *

****

****

"Anakin Skywalker, look at me."

When he opened his eyes _this_ time, the state of things was quite clear; and Palpatine was gravely displeased.

"Sssss - Shee - v - Palpa - tine. Sir?"

"You're delirious; it's the medication. It will pass."

His mouth was a barren wasteland. Palpatine offered him a small cup of water, holding it to his lips as Anakin drank greedily.

"Easy, my boy. You were screaming in your sleep, though from one of your bad dreams or the pain, or some combination of both, I do not know. I came along just as you began wailing loudly enough to wake the Elders."

"'m sorry, Palpatine."

"There is nothing for which you require forgiveness, save for your own stubborn pride. I forbid you to move from this bed, Anakin. Your wound became so badly infected you were stricken with a fever. I thought I had lost you." Anakin's eyes had focused completely again, the Chancellor's eyes red and saddled with worry. "Are you always so prideful?"

"Master Obi-Wan thinks so. I guess it's a flaw of mine."

Palpatine is sitting on the edge of Anakin's bed, hands folded primly in his lap. He looks like he wants to say more, but something stops him. Slowly, he draws back the coverlet and pokes at the bandaged wound - now smelling of antiseptic rather than rot. "You will heal, but I demand that you pay closer attention to the signals your body sends you. You are still not immortal."

"Yes, sir. Sheev." He's shy when he says it, unsure whether or not the Chancellor's worry (and subsequent annoyance, if Anakin has gleaned anything thus far from searching the older man's feelings on the current state of things) bars him from saying the name aloud.

Perhaps as a reply, Palpatine thoughtfully and slowly eases himself into the bed next to Anakin, who tries to move to allow the smaller man room but Palpatine answers the attempt with a light swat against his leg.

"Stay still, Anakin. Be still."

He doesn't know what time of day it is. He stopped looking at the chrono days ago. The light shifts in the room, making Palpatine's hair seem like an ethereal halo in what had to be the fading light of a late afternoon. Palpatine's hand meets Anakin's exposed torso, rubbing concentric circles in light, tingling patterns across his still fevered skin.

"Be still" he repeats, so softly Anakin almost doesn't hear it.

And he is still, and he rests his head against that of the Chancellor, Palpatine, _Sheev_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. King Veruna was a Naboo patriarch who ruled Naboo for thirteen years. The feast day bearing his name (and the moon which was presumably named after him) is entirely made up.  
> 2\. Palps is a traditionalist to his core, and values the old ways - this is most certainly canon, as his office is bedecked with Sith artifacts and art. I imagine this can be stretched to accommodate what had to be a certain love for the culture and history of Naboo.  
> 3\. Palpy's little two-step, the Pas de Veruna, is more like tai-chi. I imagine a younger Ian McDiarmid totally rocking such a sexy dance. Hell, I could imagine him doing it _now_. Rawr.  
>  4\. _Gentiluomo_ is a title that died along with the late Cardinal Basil Hume. It means 'gentleman in waiting', and they wear a uniform much like what I describe in the latter part of this chapter. Basically, they acted as ceremonial bodyguards to the Cardinals and held their relics during religious ceremonies.  
>  5\. I'm a little sad this is over, and part of me wanted to get slashy - but I did tag this as pre-slash, and if you animals want that, let me know and I'll write it. They're so close to doing butt secks, you guys!

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. There exists in the old EU a Sith Lord who successfully tamed his dark side urges and re-purposed them to care for and protect his friends and family. As Palpatine is arguably the most erudite of the Sith Lords, I believe that he genuinely cared for Anakin and was personally affected by the events on Mustafar. Here is the examination of Palpatine's romantic side, which absolutely no one asked for.  
> 2\. Tagging this fic as AU because Anakin isn't married to Padme and his sexuality is far more ambiguous. Padme is pregnant and Anakin wrestles with that here, but there is no secret marriage to hide. It still gives Palpatine the impetus to create the fear of loss within his future apprentice.  
> 3\. Wookieepedia defines the Elders as the first humans in the galaxy. My creation of the Elder Cairn is completely fictional.


End file.
